


War

by anr



Category: Stargate SG-1
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-12-25
Updated: 2004-12-25
Packaged: 2017-11-18 15:43:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,866
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/562686
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anr/pseuds/anr
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Marauders versus Pilgrims.</p>
            </blockquote>





	War

**Author's Note:**

> Mini!OTP AU
> 
> Beta: stars_like_dust
> 
> Request: a snowball fight with school friends, with Sam and Jack sneaking off for smoochies in the snow.

On the last day of classes before break, it's Tim Powers who offers the invitation.

"Tomorrow at ten. Quaker's Hill. Be there."

Then again, thinks Jack, maybe 'offer' is too loose a definition. "For?"

"Marauders versus Pilgrims. We're gonna kill 'em."

His first thought is P7Y664 and the near massacre he and his team had managed to escape three years ago. Luckily, six months into his second-chance-life, he's learning to ignore those thoughts. "Literally?"

"Hell yeah! They may have whipped our butts last season--" Football, Jack translates. Tim is their school's quarterback and every inch the associated stereotype. "--but when it comes to the annual snow war? So gonna kick their preppy asses."

They're in Ms Chi's English class, playing desk football with pens and an eraser and, as he attempts a touchdown, Jack tries to remember if he and Carter have plans. "War?"

"Totally." Tim scores and raises his hand for a high five that's a hell of a lot more complicated than what Jack remembers from his first time at high school. "You in?"

The bell rings and Jack shrugs. "Probably." He grabs his bag and follows the other kids out of the classroom, silently amused by the look of relief on Chi's face as they all leave. "Have to check with Carter though."

"Dude." The look Tim gives him is long and suffering but mostly amused. "You are so totally whipped."

Jack smirks. "Jealous much?"

"You have _no_ idea."

  


* * *

  


He finds her in the Library, bent over a three ring, foolscap binder and scribbling a mile a minute. Text books cover a good third of the table and he can almost see a 'Do Not Disturb' sign pinned to the back of her chair.

"Working hard?"

"Hey." Her greeting is soft and warm as he slips into the seat next to her and wraps his arm around the back of her chair. "How was class?"

"I scored twenty-three touchdowns." He tries not to sound ridiculously proud of that fact and fails, miserably, if her grin is any indication.

"Free time from Chi, huh?"

"Last class of the last day. It was all good." Her hair, long and unbound, brushes the back of his hand. Absently, he wraps a hunk of it around his finger. "Homework?" he asks, poking at a nearby text book curiously. There's a coffee stain on the inside cover and he has a funny feeling he might of been the one who put it there.

"Work, actually." She starts closing up the books (window dressing, he thinks, so people walking past won't notice that instead of using her free period for study, she's working out computations that would fry their non-astrophysicist minds) and her folder, stacking everything neatly into two piles. "I'll tell you about it when we get home."

"A place we're headed now, yes?"

She smiles and nods, alleviating any concerns he might have had that she'd prefer to stay here, scribbling. "For two weeks apparently."

"Excellent." He grabs the heaviest looking pile of books and groans at the weight. "Geez, Carter. Ever heard of light reading?"

"These are twelfth-grade text books: my reading doesn't get much lighter than this." That she's got a point does nothing to relieve some of the weight from his arms. The kiss she pecks on his cheek, however, does make him shut up about it though. "Old man," she teases.

"Bookworm." He'd swat her ass if he had a free hand. They're almost out the doors when he remembers Tim's invitation. "Oh, hey. We doing anything tomorrow?"

She shrugs. "Don't think so... why? What'd you have in mind?"

He grins. "War."

  


* * *

  


They arrive late--too old to be getting out of bed early when it's a day off and too young to care that they may have promised otherwise--and Shelley Nguyen and Rod McLarkin lope towards them the moment they crest the small incline behind the parking lot. 

"Hey, you made it." Rod's right shoulder is caked with snow and when he claps them on the back, he starts his own mini snow storm.

"Looks like." Jack nods at the snow. "Take a hit?"

Rod grins. "Friendly fire--we've been goofing off while we wait."

"We the last to arrive?" he asks.

Shelley nods. "From our side, yeah. But I think the enemy's still waiting on a couple more."

Carter looks around curiously and voices what Jack's already thinking. "So where's everyone else?"

"The Pilgrims have staked out the barbeque area--we're over here at the jungle gym." They walk as Shelley talks and as they make their way towards the hard-plastic cubby beneath the gym, Jack realises that, yes, there are splashes of colour behind the snow-smothered benches and barbeques on the other side of the park.

Ducking inside, he finds Tim talking with Annabeth Canley-Smith, Julie Vasky and Greg Potter (the latter outside, but leaning in through the small window). The quarterback looks up as they enter. "Jack. Sam. Excellent."

Jack does that high five thing with Tim again, much to Carter's amusement.

"So, what's the deal?" she asks, looking to Annabeth and Julie.

"War," says Annabeth succinctly.

Shelley and Rod are outside with Greg, unable to squeeze in, so it's over Carter's shoulder that Shelley says, "first side to lose all players... loses."

Carter nods. "The rules?"

"Three hits to your body and you're mortally wounded, kissing your ass goodbye," says Tim. "One hit to the head and you're gone immediately, KIA and see ya, wouldn't wanna be ya."

Greg grins gleefully and rubs gloved hands together.

"Restrictions?" asks Jack. Carter is plastered against his side as they cram into this hidey-hole but he's really not about to complain (or suggest they hurry this Q and A up).

"Keep it within the park," says Greg.

And Julie finishes with, "and no bone-breakers."

Glancing up, Carter frowns and whispers. "Bone-breakers?"

He nods and leans closer, if possible. "Sticks and stones," he explains quietly. "You add them to the 'balls--s'good for damaging stuff."

"Like bones?" Sarcasm at its best.

"More like windows." She rolls her eyes and he grins shamelessly. "Hey, we're only young once."

"Or twice."

He snickers and turns back to the conversation just in time to hear Tim divide them all into pairs. He's with Carter, as expected, but Julie (Greg's partner) and Annabeth (Tim's) exchange a loaded look and immediately swap teams, much to the amusement of Carter and Shelley. The guys just look at each other cluelessly until Tim shrugs.

"Whatever," he says. "War?"

"War," they all agree.

  


* * *

  


After seven years of working side-by-side, often in life-or-death situations, it'd be surprising if they _didn't_ fall back on old habits.

He watches Carter take up a defensible position behind a park bench and cover his ass as he crawls to her side. "What've we got?" he whispers when he's on his back beside her, checking his pockets to make sure his pre-made snowballs haven't been squished too badly.

"Two targets." She clocks it out for him and he nods, handing her his ammunition.

"Think you can take 'em?"

"Yes, Sir." There's a gleam in her eyes that he hasn't seen in a long time. He thinks it might be reflected in his own.

"On three then, Major." He switches to hand signals as she readies her aim and then covers _her_ ass as she takes out the enemy. It's a beautiful thing to watch, his Carter in action. He'd almost forgotten how much so.

There are grunts of surprise (and an indignant "hey!") from behind the garbage cans and Carter grins ferally as she drops back down beside him. Unable to restrain his own smile, he grabs her quickly, pressing his lips hard against hers (for all their old habits, there's something to be said for the newer traditions they're developing).

"One o'clock."

The words are mumbled against his lips, and barely register at first. "My clock or yours?"

"Mine."

Breaking off the kiss, he looks over his shoulder and spies the movement that has caught Carter's eye. When he turns back, it's just in time to see her disappearing behind a nearby oak. "Deserter," he mutters under his breath, then smiles, quickly, as Tim makes a mad and conspicuous dash for his side. "Hey."

"Dude." Tim looks around briefly. "Where'd Sam go?"

Behind Tim, Carter's waving her hands and mouthing 'not here'. "Behind you."

Tim turns around, sees nothing, and turns back. "Where?"

Carter sticks her hand out from behind the tree and flips him the bird. He shrugs and swallows a grin, focusing on Tim. "What's the score?"

"Pilgrim's are down four, with four more wounded. We've lost two--Annabeth and Rod."

He nods and then eyes the snow caked onto Tim's shoulder. "How many wounded on our side?"

"Everyone except you and Sam." Tim frowns. "Speaking of: what's with the--" He makes a series of hand gestures that are either meant to mimic jerking off or an epileptic baseball coach. Knowing Tim, his intention was probably the former.

"Oh, that." Jack shrugs again. "Saw it on TV--some sci-fi show." Over Tim's shoulder, he can see Carter signalling for backup. "Oops, gotta go. Carter's in trouble." Following his girlfriend's lead, he leaves quickly, Tim's voice echoing after him.

" _Where_?"

  


* * *

  


Fifteen minutes, three casualties (two Pilgrim's and Greg Potter), and a flesh wound (his right thigh) later, Jack's starting to feel less like defending the world (the park) and more like fooling around. A feeling that's more than helped by Carter's wandering fingers (his wound isn't _that_ high on his leg) and the curves of her body (even smothered in fleece and fabric) pressing against his when she decides to cover him.

Not that he's complaining, of course.

"Oof." Gripping her hips, he repositions her slightly as she straddles his waist. "God, you weigh a lot."

Well, not _seriously_.

She smacks him on the chest with the snowball she'd been holding. "Sorry, Sir." She sounds anything but and he retaliates with a snowball to her stomach. "Hey!"

"You shot me first."

"Did not."

"Did." He plants another one on her ass, just because, and smirks at her mock-outraged expression. "Too."

There's a heartbeat or two where he thinks he's settled the score, if not won outright.

Then the next thing he knows he's eating snow and they're rolling down the mini-hill near the barbeque area until, breathless and laughing, they're hopelessly tangled up in each other and snow is working its way into interesting places.

"Oh, you are such a dead man," she gasps, as he shifts off her a little, giving her room to breathe.

Grinning, he brushes some snow off her cheek. "So're you."

"No more war?" There's a calculating light in her eyes.

He shakes his head. "Not for us."

"Good." She attacks again, this time with hands and lips and a move that he remembers teaching her, years ago, when they were first met and younger (sotospeak).

She's on top and in control now. He really doesn't mind.

"Carter?"

"Mmm?" Her mouth is busy and he doesn't want to distract her, but this is something he just _has_ to say. "Jack?"

He sighs happily. "Best. War. _Ever_."

  


* * *

The End

**Author's Note:**

> ORIGINAL URL: <http://anr.livejournal.com/177072.html>


End file.
